


Deal With The Devil

by ibelieveinturtles



Series: Donuts in My Bra and Other Stories [33]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angel!Darcy Lewis, F/M, Mentions of hell, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prompt Fill, not quite dead Brock Rumlow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 07:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19291384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibelieveinturtles/pseuds/ibelieveinturtles
Summary: The last thing Brock Rumlow remembers is the helicarrier falling towards the building in a kind of inevitable glide. Then crashing and falling and… nothing.Next thing he knows he's in a fiery cavern and an angel is offering him a new job. It's got lots of perks.





	Deal With The Devil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Britt1975](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britt1975/gifts).



> Written for a Drabble Challenge: #19 You're Satan- Brock/Darcy (if we're supposed to pick a pairing.)
> 
> I'd be lying if I didn't say there's probably a healthy Good Omens inspiration here, but also Piers Anthony's Incarnations of Immortality, and Terry Pratchett influence my feelings and attitudes on religion and gods.

 

* * *

 

 

The last thing Brock remembered was the helicarrier falling towards the building in a kind of inevitable glide. Then crashing and falling and… nothing.

He woke up with a start,  ~~ shooting upright in the bed ~~ standing in the middle of an enormous cavern, a fiery glow emanating from several arched doorways.

"What the fuck?"

"Well, if 'what the fuck' means 'what happened' then what happened is technically you died. I mean, you're not permanently dead yet, but you  _ will _ be if you don't accept the offer."

"What? What offer?"

Turning around, he couldn't see where the voice was coming from. It sounded like it was right beside him but there was no one there. "Who are you? Where are you?"

"Oh, oops." A female figure wearing jeans and a chunky knit sweater popped into existence several meters away from him, gave a little shimmy, and a pair of snowy white wings sprouted behind her. "Ugh. That's better." Lifting one hand to push her long dark hair over her shoulder, she quickly closed the distance. As she got closer a vague feeling of familiarity rose in his mind but he barely had a chance to realise it before she was right in front of him.

"So, you guys couldn't have waited another hour or two before trying to take over the world? Even half an hour would have done it. No one was ready. Do you know how much paperwork that's gonna generate?" She reached out, plucking a tablet from the air in front of her and waved it at him. "Look at this. There's like, a zillion messages already-"

"Who are you?" Brock repeated, "and what the fuck is going on?"

"What? Oh. Um. Do you want the long version or the short version?" Without waiting for an answer she kept talking. "You know what? We'll go with the short version to start with. You're Satan now."

Brock couldn't believe his ears. "What?"

"The old Satan is dead, thanks to the esteemed Black Widow. Hmm, I must remember to thank her properly for that," the woman mused, scratching at the tablet in her hand. "She's very fond of that fudge I make-" She glanced up, eyes wide. "Oops, went off track there didn't I? Where was I? Oh yeah. Old Satan is dead, so.. we kinda need a new one. We want you to do the job." She flashed him a huge, toothy grin, hugging the tablet to a very ample chest. 

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the confusion from his brain. His heart beat overtime and blood pounded in his ears. The winged woman watched him with a faint expression of concern etched into her furrowed brow.

"Hey, are you okay?" She moved closer to him, one arm reaching out to grasp his shoulder. It tingled where her palm rested.

"Breathe, buddy. Just breathe. In and out, that's the way." She peered up at him with an encouraging smile, nodding slowly as he regained control. "You okay there? Sorry." She scrunched her face at him. "I probably could've broken that a bit better, right? Jane says I have no tact. Like she can talk," she muttered, rolling her eyes. She patted his shoulder and stepped back.

"Who the hell  _ are _ you?" he demanded, pulling together the shreds of his sanity and self control.

She smiled at him, clearly aiming for beatific but not quite getting there. "I'm the archangel Darciel." 

Frowning, he looked at her. "I was raised Catholic and I've never heard of an archangel named Darciel."

Darciel waved his statement off with a scoff. "You think we all gallivant around announcing ourselves? Not likely. Some of us prefer to fly low." She winked and giggled. "So, back to the issue at hand-"

"I'm not evil," he cut in.

"Mmhmm."

"I just got in too deep, okay?"

"Hey, don't worry. It's not actually a requirement of the job, dude. Believe it or not, that's all medieval propaganda."

"Why me?"

"Why not?" She waggled her eyebrows at him. "You may be an absolute bastard but you've got a nice little streak of empathy and compassion, and that's something the old Satan was sorely lacking. Plus you're a natural leader with excellent planning and organisational skills. You can problem solve on the fly and you've already proven to be an excellent keeper of secrets. I've read your resume. So, yay or nay? Do you want the job or not?"

Brock glanced away, taking a moment to try and remember what he knew about Hell.

"Do I have to do the fire and brimstone, seven circles of Hell stuff?"

"Nah. We did away with all that at the last change of management. Most people consider Hell is either other people or Earth itself these days. And I hate to rush you but we need a decision, dude."

Brock paused. He had no idea what was going on but there was no way he was going to say no to life over death. However, Darciel was clearly trying to rush him. People made mistakes in situations like this. They gave away more than they meant to. Promised more than they would if they had time to think. Still, he would start small.

"What's in it for me?"

"You get to live. What more do you want?"

"A helicarrier and a building just fell on me," he pointed out. "You can't tell me that won't leave some damage."

"Well, of course it did some damage, otherwise we wouldn't be having this discussion."

"Can you make sure the damage is fixed?" he asked. "All of it."

She stared at him for a moment, a worried little frown creasing her forehead and then her face brightened. 

"Oh!" she said, drawing the sound out in a singsong tone. "I get it." She leaned forward, eyes twinkling conspiratorially. "You want to stay pretty, with your hair and your eyes and your cheekbones and all those muscles."

Brock was shocked to feel heat rush to his face but he ignored it. "I seem to recall that the king of hell is supposed to be irresistible," he countered, smiling seductively at her. This particular smile had worked more times than he could count and he was gratified to see her cheeks flush pink under his gaze. "Can't go around tempting people if I don't look the part."

"Fair enough," she agreed. "You can keep your pretty. So you'll do it?"

"What about divine powers?" he asked. "Do I get to grant wishes, offer miracles, that kind of thing? Read people's minds, know their deepest secrets, wishes... desires?"

"Um, I guess? That's not really my department but, yeah. I'll look into it for you."

He shook his head. "Come on, Darciel. Do you expect me to believe they'd send me someone without the authority for these kinds of negotiations?"

"Alright, alright," she snapped. "Yes, I am authorised to bestow certain talents, powers, and abilities on you for the job."

"Then I want everything I just said, as well as invincibility-" she started to protest but he steamrolled right over her "-and I want to be able to go wherever I want, whenever I want, without being seen. Or heard."

"I can't do that!" she cried out.

He grinned, leaning closer. "I bet you can. Especially the invincibility. I don't want this ripped out from under me like your last candidate."

"God damn you. Okay."

"Pretty sure I'm already damned, sweetheart. Else I wouldn't be here, would I?"

She huffed and crossed her arms. "Fine. Anything else?"

He took a deep breath, head tilted to one side as he wondered how far he could push her. The more he looked at her the more familiar she seemed.

"One more thing."

"What?"

He stared into her eyes for a long moment before shifting his gaze slowly down, then up again.

"You."

Her jaw dropped. "Excuse me? Nope. No way. I am  _ not _ sleeping with you. That is  _ not _ an option."

"Woah, woah. Slow down, Darciel. That is not what I meant." It was exactly what he meant. "No, I just- I'm gonna need some help with this. I'd like you to be my assistant. Help me out until I get the hang of it."

"Are you kidding me? I'm an archangel, not a personal assistant."

With a flash of realisation, Brock remembered where he knew her from. "Really? So what exactly is it you do for Dr. Foster then?"

"I'm her friend," Darcy Lewis snapped, and then gasped. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. How- You leave Jane alone. You don't go near her or I will make your afterlife  _ so _ miserable!"

"Language, angel. Language. Does anyone know you're moonlighting as a college student?" He glanced upwards to emphasise which anyone he was talking about.

She drew back. "You wouldn't."

"Help me out for a few centuries. I'll keep your little secret  _ and _ I'll make sure Jane stays safe. She's on a lot of lists of interest."

"A few cent- Are you blackmailing me?" 

He winced at her high pitched shriek but wasn't about to give up.

"I'll keep Jane safe no matter what you do. But I could really use the help. C'mon. What's a couple of centuries between friends?"

"We-" she shook an angry finger between them, "-are  _ not _ friends! One year."

"Oh, come on, that's nothing. One hundred years."

"Five years."

"Don't you want to keep an eye on me? Make sure I'm not fucking everything up? Seventy five."

Darcy groaned. "Dude, it's kinda your job to fuck everything up. Ten years."

"Sixty, and I'll owe you a favour."

"You'll owe me  _ all _ the favours," she grumbled.

"Okay then." He knew when to seize an opportunity. "Give me fifty years, and I'll owe you whatever favour you want. Whenever, whatever."

"Why do you even wa-" the air around them seemed to thicken. For a moment his nostrils were filled with the scent of fresh cut grass, rain on hot dirt, and the sweet spiciness of carnations and then it faded.

"Alright," Darcy said, a note of resignation in her voice. "I will be your assistant for fifty years but I get veto powers and you'll owe me a favour for each and every one of those fifty years." 

"Done." 

Fifty years was five times longer than he'd expected her to agree to and really, what kind of favour would an angel ask the devil for?

She held her hand out.

"Commander Brock Rumlow, do you accept the position hereby offered to you, and be henceforth known to the realms of mankind as Satan, Lord of Hell, Prince of Darkness?"

He reached for her hand but just before they touched he hesitated. "Do I have to be known as Satan?"

She tilted her head to one side, looking at him with narrowed eyes as she considered the question. "Officially? Yes. But really, you can call yourself whatever you want. No one's gonna know or care."

"Alright then." He closed the gap, grasping her small hand in his. "I accept."

 

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt is from [This List](https://ibelieveinturtles.tumblr.com/post/185584918343/drabble-challenge) if you’d like one of your own. 
> 
> My Tumblr, if you're interested, is  
> [ibelieveinturtles](http://ibelieveinturtles.tumblr.com/)


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